


Kinda Busy

by Edwardina



Series: The Colferstreet Sexting 'Verse [1]
Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Dirty Talk, M/M, Sexting, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-07
Updated: 2011-08-07
Packaged: 2017-11-22 03:07:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/605159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edwardina/pseuds/Edwardina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Glee Live tour, Chris and Chord start texting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kinda Busy

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [kink_bingo](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/), for the "phone sex/epistolary" square. Thanks, as always, to Kate! Title from "Telephone" by Lady Gaga and Beyonce, as only fitting.

Chris keeps in touch with everybody – or he tries to, anyway. He's so busy he hardly has a spare moment to pee, but it's hard to go from being one of many cogs in a non-stop machine and flying from place to place in a private plane with a bunch of your best friends to being the one running the show. But he loves to work, and this is the moment. If he doesn't keep himself busy, reach for every dream he's got in his quiver, he'll never forgive himself later.

He's knee-deep in _Struck By Lightning_ when he gets the news that Chord Overstreet won't be back for _Glee_ 's third season.

He knows negotiations have been going on, which is the norm, and Chris has been going and going and going like the Energizer Bunny, so he hasn't thought about it much at all, just taking for granted that an amicable agreement would be reached and the gang would all be back together come August. But Brad, Ashley, and Amber all text him about it in the space of an hour, and then Lea and Dianna later. He couldn't have anticipated seeing the words _Chord's gone, Chord walked, did you hear Chord isn't coming back_ , or how startled and sad he'd feel. True, Chris hadn't gotten to know Chord as well as a lot of the other _Glee_ cast did, but he was still one of them. And for a few months, Chris had been forced to think about him a lot.

Chris remembers, like it happened five years ago instead of one, laying eyes on his headshot for the first time and saying, "Oh, God, is that him? That's Kurt's future boyfriend? Am I going to have to kiss him? Ugh, the things I do for you, Ryan Murphy."

He'd subsequently taken every opportunity to make a joke about Chord's good looks in a lame effort to cover up the fact that he was self-conscious – and just painfully aware of that guy. Chord Overstreet was one of those effortlessly dreamy _Tiger Beat_ guys, blond and cute and well-built. Half of Chris was dismayed, because Chord was so... not his type, just so unlike him. He was aware that was probably the point: the unattainable hot all-American and straight-as-an-arrow jock being gay – he got it; it was unexpected, it was fantasy fulfillment, it was Ryan's wish for Kurt and all gay boys leading a painful, isolated high school existence coming true. The guy was a gay teen's wet dream... one that was more like an impossible dream, since he was almost offensively straight. It was like a joke, just a huge joke. A guy like Chord... there really just weren't guys like Chord. Not for guys like Chris, and definitely not in high school.

The other half of him was lost in shyness that you wouldn't think the gay kid from _Glee_ who was breaking into the big-time channeling all the pain of his orientation would have, but which was apparently rattling around in him nonetheless. Chris walked a jittery line between having an apology prepared for inevitable moments of awkwardness, poor straight Chord having to deal with trying to play gay, and pushing it all away, purposefully keeping it all at a distance and feeling unapologetic. It wasn't his show. Chord had known what he was getting into. Blah blah blah. Chris had little idea how to talk to him. They had locked eyes a couple of times and Chris had realized in the blank way Chord looked at him that they both knew what was coming in the future: _boyfriends_.

But all that's in the distant-seeming past. The season wore on and Chord wasn't the boyfriend after all. Chris had only started to actually get to know him on the tour, and he was oddly different than Chris had expected, or maybe fictionalized to himself in his own mind based on everything "the boyfriend" was supposed to be. Chord wasn't unapproachable at all.

In fact, in retrospect, he'd been steady in the face of impending gayness up in his _J-14_ face. He was completely guileless and without ego, often seeming preoccupied with distant dreams and body meanwhile flailing around the stage without grace. He played the guitar in his hotel room and kept scraps of paper, Hilton stationery and receipts and napkins, with lyrics written on them in his pockets, and dropped them constantly. He smushed his short, bleached hair under ball caps and double-knotted his running shoes. He worked for Zach and Brooke even past the point of exhaustion and misery. His sense of humor was round and delighted, not pointed or wordy or witty. Sometimes no one but Darren laughed at his jokes, but he made them anyway. He would do impressions on demand for anybody who asked, anytime, eyes lighting up at the opportunity. He did pull-ups backstage, silently and without complaint killing himself for that body Chris had assumed was more like a "Batteries Included!" deal.

But apparently it was all for naught.

Everybody's in his phone, including Chord. He's never called or texted him, although he's gotten a couple of random public replies from him via Twitter. They've stood around on set together and smiled for pictures together and been at the same parties and gatherings and gone through hours of dance rehearsals side-by-side, breathing the same air, but somehow that never made them friends... so it's weird to be standing there on the set of his film suddenly reaching out to someone he's never really had a true one-on-one conversation with before.

_Hey! Just heard you're out for next season. We'll really miss you on set. If we tour again next year it won't be the same. Who will bump into me every other night? Keep in touch._

Later – like, much later, way later than he should be awake, but he's in a mania of frantic energy – as he's signing individual letters to the gracious fans acting as extras in the film, Chord responds.

_Thanks! Will miss everybody too, but won't miss Zach yelling at me haha. still working on your movie??_

_Basically every minute of every day, including right now!_ Chris texts. _Working my ass off! Better than squats!_

Wherever he is, Chord must be awake too: _Not if u do them in a leotard_

Chris snorts to himself there in his bedroom. He's not sure if Chord's entirely aware that in that reference, Chord would be the one in the leotard, not him. It's sort of endearingly half-baked. Chris doesn't have the heart to call him out on it. And also, he isn't actually sure if Chord is actually attempting to tease him or just making a random tour joke.

 _Everything's better in a leotard_ , Chris sends back sagely.

There's probably nothing Chord or any other straight guy can say about that. Or maybe he goes to bed like a sane person who didn't decide to sign over two hundred letters. Either way, there's no answer. Even though Chris meant to extend a _so long, farewell_ , it really doesn't feel like he wound up saying goodbye.

Sure enough, the next day, Chord makes his phone buzz in his pocket while Chris stands there with his hand on his chin watching the monitor over the director's shoulder, hawkish and unable to keep himself from it.

 _Lol what about Leonardo Dicaprio_ , the text says.

It's so dumb, but Chris giggles under his breath anyway and takes a moment to joke along.

_Hey, maybe he'd finally win that Academy Award if he shook it in some spandex._

Chord texts back within a minute: _Scorsese's gotta get on that!! Ur the expert, i'll give him ur number_

_Yes, do. I'll share all my Leo fantasies with him._

_Inception him_ , Chord suggests.

 _If Leo does Dancing With the Stars you'll know something went terribly wrong_ , Chris kids.

The only other person he texts with that day, besides the director of his movie, is Ashley. She sends him a picture of the koala backpack she bought for him in Australia, to be used as a stunt double or stand-in when Chewie has the day off, and they agree to go see the final _Harry Potter_ together as soon as humanly possible but give each other permission to see it alone first, if that's the way Chris's schedule works out.

That night he tinkers with some dialogue for the scene they're shooting the next day, but he's so tired he doesn't know whether he likes it any better than the original dialogue or if he just made it ten times worse. Even though it's late, Chris can't make himself just turn in. It feels a little like if he slows down, "graduating" from _Glee_ is going to nip at his heels and scare him out of his reverie, wake him from the dream that is his life. All the plates he's got spinning will drop if he isn't hyper-vigilant. He doesn't sleep very much these days. There'll be time for that after his movie is finished filming and before _Glee_ starts back up again, and Chris has got the Ambien to make it happen.

He's still sitting up against his headboard with his laptop too warm on his thighs when his phone goes off. It's a text from Chord.

_Did you see harry potter?_

Chris gets the feeling the _Glee_ kids must all be texting each other.

_Not yet. I'm not ready! Plus, I have almost literally no spare time. Plus, I know I will cry._

_it will definitely make you shed tears_

_Did you shed tears?_ Chris teases.

 _i got a little choked up, it's an end of an era_ , Chord answers. 

A pang.

Chris might be sensing too much in those words – he's been writing, thinking about how things sound and what they mean far too in-depth, and seeing those on the screen of his phone instead of seeing Chord's half-grin as he says them makes a his stomach sink with a sudden sadness. Both last year and this year, the end of the _Glee_ tours felt like the end of an era. First they said goodbye to Dijon, and now it's Chord who won't be coming back to McKinley in three short weeks. Nothing's like it was. Everyone's future is being discussed all the time. Things change, plans fall through, movie deals come up, FOX fills up their calendars with unanticipated things all the time, and Chris never knows what's next. Life is a rapid-fire roller coaster. Nostalgia just hurts.

Chris sets his laptop aside.

_I will bring an entire box of Kleenex when I finally see it. I feel so sorry for the ushers._

Chord responds ( _haha, when they see it's you they will sell it on ebay_ ) and Chris jokes back ( _Maybe I should save them all, auction them off for charity_ ).

Fifteen minutes later, Chris is asleep, phone under his hand on his chest. When its alarm goes off, it's a muffled vibration that's wound up between his crotch and the mattress; he'd flopped onto his stomach in his sleep, and for a split-second, brain in that painful/beautiful place just between asleep and awake, the pulsing buzz feels good, and he thinks, _Chord_.

"Ugh," he grunts into his pillow, mentally grasping after the sensation of the buzzing and then realizing he's half-hard and shoving the feeling away again. It's pretty sad. He needs to get laid, probably. He's twenty-one and barely has the energy to jerk off, let alone date a guy who would likely get crushed by the _Glee_ machine anyway.

But there's no time to think about it, and no time to lie around either. Up to work.

He doesn't hear from Chord for a few days, but doesn't think about it between shooting _Struck By Lightning_ and adjusting the script live on set, meeting people and taking calls from FOX, working on his book, Skyping with his sister, jogging on the treadmill with his ear buds in. There's a lot to think about. Chris's brain never stops. It never wants to shut up. When he does sleep, he often wakes up and realizes he's been writing something down on the pad of paper he keeps next to his bed, brain working without him, or he sleep-eats or sleep-shops.

He uses a rare afternoon off getting his butt to the theater to see _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part II_ , and spends an inordinate amount of the movie with tears rolling down his face. He can't help wondering stupidly after each scene if that was when Chord choked up, because he is bawling at the blind dragon's flight and Ariana's portrait and everyone cheering for Harry – basically he just cries at the whole thing, and tweets as much from his theater seat about it afterward.

Then he sends a text to Chord: _Finally saw Harry Potter. So many tears! You're right, it's the end of an era._

He's eating a super-late dinner in his apartment, feeling drained, the _Harry Potter_ theme music stuck in his head like it's decided to haunt him in an oddly sad way, when his phone buzzes on the counter nearby. It's Chord.

_cock_

That's all it says.

Chris makes a face at his phone, face heating up automatically, his knee-jerk reaction to the word directed right at him embarrassment. It's embarrassment first, and then a sharp injured feeling of total confusion. Is this because he's gay? The phone buzzes again, this time in his hand.

_damn autocorrect! lol supposedd to say cool_

Oh. That makes much more sense, although Chris has enough experience with predictive text to wonder if Chord's been typing that word on his phone recently. Chord goes on before Chris can start to formulate an answer.

_took u forever. bummed there wont be anymore. always superhero movies gotta love captain america!!!! nw spiderman_

And another, quickly.

_stupid phone hahaha_

Chris jokes back, as that is his default setting. _Oh, that makes more sense. My dick was like, "Do I have to respond to that?"_

He's just put the phone down again when it rattles against the counter insistently, and Chris is unfortunately tipping his can of Diet Coke to his lips when he looks at the message.

_gaga of course. it cums when i call_

Chris practically does a spit-take; Coke dribbles down his chin and onto his shirt as he chokes on it. Somehow, choking is second in line in his brain to this guy, of all guys, saying something like that to him, and his body primarily seems to be concerned with making his dick chub up in his jeans, choking carbonation down the wrong pipe a distant second. Straight guys don't really joke with him like that, nor do they typo "haha" into "gaga" without shame. That's when it hits him –

_Haha, are you drunk?_

Abandoning the last of his dinner in the sink, Chris strips his shirt off and heads toward his bathroom, phone in his back pocket. His chest and fingers are a tad sticky. 

_just had some wine with emma, good times_

Politely, Chris says, _Sounds like fun. I'm glad you're enjoying yourself. Say hi to Emma for me._

He goes ahead and takes a shower, mind pinned on that flare of embarrassment and those words on the screen of his phone. It's almost refreshing to think of something other than work and the undeniable heartache of _Harry Potter_ , but the mention of Chord's girlfriend after the dick joke is kind of jarring somehow.

Actually, it's all kind of jarring.

He's always been the gay guy girls love because he loves them too, as friends, and the gay guy who's so non-threatening and asexual towards them that straight guys aren't afraid of him. He's never been one of those _Queer Eye_ kind of gay guys or near as flamboyant as Kurt, who's an embodiment of the idea of "gay" that Chris has tried to flesh out all he can. Still, with the _Glee_ girls, they accept him as one of their own so much that they'll talk about guys and sex without worry about how he'll take it... but the guys... no, never. They don't see him as one of their own, whether it's because they think he'll be grossed out if they talk about chicks or they're afraid he'll talk about guys in some way they can't handle. They don't talk about sex. They don't talk to him the same way they talk to each other. There's a disconnect, a line drawn that the guys never toe because it's born of striving to respect his – and their boss's – sexuality in true _Glee_ fashion.

In a way, it's awesome not having to worry; Chris's castmates are amazing. But in a way, the disconnect is partly him, too. It gapes awkwardly around the guys, and even with the girls, he's not sure enough about himself to want to say anything more than, _Yeah, that guy is pretty cute!_ Even playing board games drunk at Naya's, Chris is never gay in a fashion that's more sexual than having a high voice, and all his castmates go out of their way to protect his privacy.

That's what's so jarring, he realizes. Chord's the only one to have ever stumbled over the line, even on drunk-texting accident.

Stepping out of the shower again, Chris's dick bobs, half-hard. It's been too long when just seeing the word "cum" gets you going. Living out of a suitcase in a myriad of hotels, power-napping on a plane, hurtling into his movie... maybe he should jerk off so the mere thought of texting with a guy who said that to him doesn't make his pulse race.

On the tile next to the sink, his phone has a stack of texts from Chord, all of which arrived in his five minutes in the shower. Butt-naked and dripping on his Target bath mat, he reads them all in a row.

_she's gone_

_but ill tell her tommorow_

_btw congrats on ur emmy nom!!! sorry 4 not tellin u sooner_

_might pass out_

_ur probabyl busy sorry_

_maybe ur dick will respond to me_

It's the most awkward possible thing to say, and exactly what Chris both does and doesn't want to hear, and there it is, sitting at the end of all those texts.

This is stupid. He is stupid.

 _LOL_ , he sends back. Then, in a fit of pique, because if anything he's harder now than he got in the shower, he taps out, _Stop harassing my dick! Some of us have work in the morning!_

He towels off, barely, and doesn't bother flipping the light on in his bedroom, instead stumbling to his bed and belly-flopping onto it, skin still on the wetter side of moist, the sheets too cool for a second. Chris has email to check, he's really damn sure, and _Struck By Lightning_ 's Facebook to troll, and probably a zillion other things he could be doing. Instead, he closes his eyes, squirming his butt around a little so he can feel his cock rubbing on his mattress. It gives a comforting, homey squeak. This is a safe place. It's seen many a jerk-off-session. He relaxes a little, blows out a breath, lets things heat up inside without even pushing himself anywhere. 

When Chord replies, the screen is brilliant in the darkness, its letters starkly defined.

_just playin...with ur dick!!!_

Chris stares, almost emotionlessly.

In no way is that anything but a joke with an ebulliently-drunk punchline. If Chord even began to guess Chris was naked and fully intending on jerking off, it would be the most mortifying thing ever. It's mortifying enough to Chris as it is. He stares in bleak arousal at his phone, thumb pressing a thoughtless streak of _ccccccc_ across the screen. He could jerk off just staring at those words, and something about that makes him all the more aroused and distantly pissed.

One-handed, he backspaces all those Cs and writes back, _Ooh, I can tell you've done this before._

The joke can apparently go on forever.

_oh u like it huh_

_Oh, yes, big boy. I love it when straight guys talk shit at me._

There. Chord would have to be brain-damaged or a total stranger to not hear the sarcasm. It's not how he wants to respond. And maybe if Chord was going to be back on _Glee_ next season, he'd just send a LOL. Smiley face. Tease! Wink.

Dramatically, Chris huffs and flips himself over like a pancake. His muscles, still toned and overly-energized from touring, make it so easy. Maybe he won't get off after all. His mind is stormy...

_big boy, i like that, do u like em big??_

Holy shit. The over-puzzled double question marks aren't an Ambien thing, right? He didn't take one and forget or something, right? He's not dreaming, hallucinating this out of some weird desire. Chord really just texted that to him.

But he's drinking. Wherever he is, he's slap-happy enough to be ignorant of the consequences of what he's saying – or is that sarcasm so well-hidden in Chord's broad, deadpan humor that it's utterly undetectable? No, Chord's too buzzed for subtlety. And the more Chris's mind rips the text apart, the less he can tell if Chord is talking about his height or... other things. 

A million snappy little responses go through his head: _Apparently I like them well-proportioned and unable to detect sarcasm... No, Chord, I was talking about my hamburger... Yes, if you're not a human tripod you need not apply._

Torn between abject, desirous fascination and what's certain to be impending humiliation, Chris rolls the dice and responds, _How big are we talking?_

It's safe enough to be a joke. A flirt that's a joke – Chris just messing with him.

_not really big im btwn 7, 8 inch when im hard_

Chris sits up straight, holding his phone in both hands. 

Okay, Chord has _got_ to be talking about his dick, and despite the shrugging nature of the statement, that sounds downright sexual and utterly huge to Chris. He's never measured himself hard, preferring blissful ignorance, but eight inches? He is definitely not eight fucking inches. He's not even sure he can claim six. It's intimidating to think Chord is that big _and texting him about it_.

 _Well, you are a big boy, then_ , Chris says, and collapses back and lets his hand graze his stomach. Just that touch makes a sensitive shudder wrack through his abdomen. His skin is halfway to goosebumps and his dick is hard, leaning over his pale stomach stubbornly, wanting his fingers around it.

Chord's not near as coy.

_actually pretty hard right now, r u?_

Simply, with shaking muscles, Chris thumbs: _Yes._

_r u thinkin bout me?_

_Yeah..._

How could he not be? It goes on, a relentless onslaught with momentary pauses Chris totally loses there in the dark. He couldn't stop it now if he tried.

_what about_

_Everything you're saying to me._

_specifically_

_Your dick._

_u like that its big?_

_Yeah, it sounds hot._

Something in Chris winces because the words don't sound like him; they sound flippant and cheap, like he's seen so many dicks that he has some kind of defined preference, when it's just the opposite. And he has no idea how to talk to other guys like this. It occurs to him that this is the closest he's ever been to sexting, and he groans into his own concerned clutch of fingers. What is he doing? What is _Chord_ doing?

 _like that u like it, feels good_ , Chord says, and Chris's hitch of worry softens. Something about the way Chord talks is so genuine, and suddenly it feels less cheap and more personal.

 _Are you thinking about me?_ he asks in return.

_yep. thinkin bout ur dick too. wonderin if youll keep talkin to me._

_I will if you keep talking to me._

_deal. tell me what r u wearin?_

Chris exhales. That kind of question would've seemed cheesy up until a minute ago.

_I'm not actually wearing anything. I just took a shower._

_wow. so ur naked and hard?_

_Yes_ , Chris replies, and embellishes suddenly, inspired. _I'm in my bedroom, lying on my bed in the dark, naked and hard and wet, waiting for you to text me back._

_r u serious that's the hottest thing ive ever heard_

A flush of arousal and power pushes through each of Chris's limbs, making him flex on the bed. His face is so hot that the water left on his skin is starting to feel like sweat.

 _U like that, big boy?_ Chris ribs, throwing an extra-teasing "u" in there, though he doubts Chord will notice.

_ok took my shorts and stuff off im naked now too. yeah i like it. r u gonna touch ur hard dick for me_

Another full-body shudder has Chris arching his hips into the air, which around him has become overly warm, he's so heated.

 _Do you want me to?_ he asks.

_yes. do it and tell me how it feels_

Despite the thrill of embarrassment that follows the arousal through his veins and makes the nerve endings in his arms prick with intensity, Chris does it. He closes his eyes, lets himself go, and wraps his fingers around his hard-on. The ache of pleasure makes him feel pinned to the mattress by it, makes him whisper, "Oh, _God_ ," into the darkness. He's so hard. He doesn't remember the last time he was this hard and it felt this good to squeeze himself. He doesn't know if he's ever actually laid out in the open on top of his sheets naked, so fucking horny he doesn't care how it'll look to his inner critic later. He's always been more of a furtive under-the-covers sort.

Vision blurring, Chris types slowly with his left hand, not bothering to correct his errors: _Its so fucking good chord._

_makin me hot, u jerkin off same time as me_

_U are?_

_Yeah thinkin bout u naked and touchin ur self thinkin bout me, callin me big boy, likin my dick_

Gasping, Chris unhands his cock; it's all he can do not to come all over himself. His guts twist in protest and he grabs his phone with both hands, thumbs typing furiously.

_I want to see your dick, sounds so big and hot_

_really??? bet u would like its big, freaks out girls, but u like that_

_Yes I would, I bet I could handle it for you_ , Chris says blatantly.

_im bout to cum_

Electricity. If Chris's hand was still on his dick he'd come right that instant, but it's on his phone. He gets another text in two seconds.

_tell me pleas_

Missing "e" aside – or maybe especially with the missing "e" – that's unmistakably sincere. Chris isn't sure what Chord's asking to hear, but maybe anything would do, and he's pretty quick after years of speech and debate and interviews. Plus, he thinks Chord might have a particular button.

_Yeah, big boy? Are you gonna cum thinking about how a gay guy is holding his breath waiting for your big cock to shoot off?_

His heart races a little, adrenaline making him shut his eyes and toss his phone to the side; he can't believe he just said that, or any of this, but in this unreal moment, he's about to come untouched. Turning on his side, away from the phone's glowing face, he wrings it out of himself in record time, jerking hard and fast, messing up his sheets with a load that seems huger than anything he's ever shot before. It's weeks worth of come, powered by his ignored sex drive suddenly roaring its way to the surface, and it almost blacks out his mind so deeply that he forgets about everything. Work, writing, _everything_.

After what feels like an hour of panting, shaking and weak and inhaling the bitter smell of his own jizz, his phone vibrates next to the back of his knee.

Chord.

Chord – an emergency flare of mortification goes up in Chris's stomach. He grapples for the phone, a lump of dread in his throat.

_just shot off so much_

_im serious_

_that was hot. u gonna cum?_

_I did_ , Chris sends back.

_wow_

_"Wow" is so not even the word for this. "WTF" is probably more like it._

_r we good, still friends?_ Chord adds.

Friends. Friends? It rings bitterly at first – then Chris realizes that actually, they were kind of only friends in the sense that they were co-workers before. Also, Chord is straight and has a girlfriend and probably drunk, although clearly not too drunk to fuck. Chris sighs, going from bitter to wistful to accepting. Just because nothing quite like that has ever happened to him before, it doesn't mean it doesn't happen... straight guys hooking up with gay guys. This is a little long-distance, but it's actually the closest he'll ever get to a one-night stand.

_Of course. What's a little sexting between friends?_

Chord says, _i dont know, but u r good at it._

Chris rolls over again, leaving his come cooling on the mattress next to him. _Oh, really? Pretty good for a first timer, eh?_

_u never sent dirty txts?_

_No, just to you._

_i cant believe, just lucky i wasnt talkin to u, hearing u mightve killed me lol_

That makes Chris perk. He doubts he could've said any of that stuff out loud, but that makes it sound like Chord isn't just tying the whole thing up in a neat little "just friends" bow and tossing the whole conversation aside.

 _I know, I really can't imagine you wanting to say any of that to me anyway_ , he admits.

Chord says, _yeah i honestly dont know why u let me, u never seemed to like me_

All the times Chris went out of his way to joke or prove his disinterest in Chord seem to come back to him in a jumble of memories and jangled nerves. He feels a throb of guilt.

_I always like a guy who cries at Harry Potter._

_i cried the whole time!!! omg_ , Chord says.

Chris laughs.

_Then I guess I must really like you!_

They talk until they both fall asleep, mid-conversation. It's the best sleep Chris has gotten in weeks, deep and restful, and waking up naked only seems to make him laugh again. Crap, he has to wash his sheets.

Chord texts him on set: _At the beach. Perfect day! r u busy tonight, I want to text u..._

Chris is busy, but. For this, he can make time. 

They text every day, spanning states, getting snapped by paparazzi with an entire country's distance between them. Time slips by too fast and yet too slow. Chris sees _Harry Potter_ again, this time with Ashley. _Struck By Lightning_ wraps. Chord leaves him a voicemail with a snippet of vocals for a song he just recorded, and it's the first time he's heard Chord's voice since the tour. It takes his breath away.

 _Glee: The 3D Concert Movie_ 's premiere sneaks up on them both, and they don't text the night before, especially not to get each other hard or say increasingly dirty things.

It's probably nerves that keeps Chris from texting and keeps him awake, his brain restless and unable to focus on anything else. He hasn't seen Chord at all since the tour came to a close and doesn't know how it's going to be between them now. The idea of Chord seeing him at the premiere and remembering fully who Chris is – the gay kid with elf ears and a girly voice – and what _Glee_ 's saddled him with becomes a morbid fantasy that plays out in his head all night. He imagines Chord ducking him like so many awkward interviews or screaming fans. He imagines Chord with his girlfriend on his arm or something, once again intimidatingly straight. Maybe they won't even speak, with the whole cast between them and reporters everywhere.

But if anything, in the confusing mill of people yelling his name, telling him where to stand, pulling him around, and flash bulbs going off, Chord's sheared dark blond locks and broad shoulders and well-fitted suit are a familiar sight, and Chris winds up making a beeline for him.

"Chord!" he calls.

A lot of other people are saying Chord's name too, but his voice must stick out, because Chord spots him instantly and reaches over to hug him, grinning at him. They're both overly warm in their clothes and Chris can smell cologne and mild, sweet sweat. And then Chris doesn't know why he ever assumes Chord is anything but approachable.

They even pose for a picture together.

Later, they'll text.


End file.
